


A Bowtruckle's Gift

by katherine1753



Category: Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them (Movies)
Genre: Anxiety Attacks, Credence Barebone Needs a Hug, First Kiss, Fluff, Healing, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, New Year's Kiss, Newt is Too Kind and Credence doesn't know what to do about it, Pickett ships it, Pining, credence deserves nice things but he doesn't think so, helpful newt, sad angsty credence, set after the first film, soft, some christmas fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-12
Updated: 2019-01-02
Packaged: 2019-09-17 04:35:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 8,021
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16967787
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/katherine1753/pseuds/katherine1753
Summary: After escaping the subway after the events of the first movie, Credence finds himself alone. He doesn't have anywhere to go or anyone to turn to, until he comes across a familiar face on Christmas Eve (and a very insistent Bowtruckle). Newt Scamander's case is more than he could have ever dreamed.





	1. Christmas Eve

It was cold. Bone-chillingly cold, and wet, and dreary. But then again, it was New York, and that’s how Credence felt about it most of the time. He couldn’t remember exactly how long it had been since he fled from the subway in a small fraction of his Obscurial form, weak and fleeting, drifting out towards the sky. It could have been mere days, or it could have been weeks. All he knew was that he couldn’t remember the last time he'd had anything decent to eat, if you considered the gruels and soups Mary Lou had given the children decent, lately surviving on what scraps he could find as he wandered the streets of New York. He didn’t feel hungry though, not really. Or at least that’s what he told himself. At this point he wasn’t sure anymore. He couldn’t remember the last time he had been warm; New York was unforgiving in its bitter coldness, bone-deep and ready to snap you in half with the frigid wind. He told himself he didn’t feel cold anymore, but that one he knew was a lie. 

Part of him longed for his Obscurus to take over once more, to render him something less-than-human, because then he wouldn’t have to feel these human things, wouldn’t have to try to figure out how to survive. He wasn’t sure if it was gone, if it left him for good, or if it was just weak and taking time to return. He wasn’t sure if he cared anymore.

He had nowhere to go, no one to turn to. He was too old to try to find another orphanage, too old to try to find employment without any sort of papers or identifying documents or a place to live. He couldn’t even try to find a place to live because he had no money, no possessions, only the clothes on his body that did nothing to ward off the winter chill of the city as he slowly wandered the streets in the dark, the flickering streetlamps providing little comfort.

No one seemed to notice him, no one paid him any mind. Sometimes it made him wonder if he were even real. 

A small part of him even longed for the days he had to stand outside in the snow and hand out leaflets. At least then, he knew he had a chance to go inside when he was finished, whether or not he would be fed and whether or not it was any warmer inside than out. But as soon as he had the thought, he hated himself for it. Mary Lou had  _ lied  _ and now he questioned everything he had ever known. 

A tiny bit of something silver glinted on the ground in front of him. He stopped to pick it up: a lost coat button. It looked nice. He held onto it, wanting something tangible that wasn’t already a part of himself. It was cold in his hand, but it was something  _ real.  _

It wasn’t sleeting at the moment, and for that he was thankful, even as his damp feet trudged through the slush on the dirty sidewalks. He tucked his hands further under his arms as he shivered, and walked on. He didn’t sleep much these days, spending most of his time walking and wandering. He supposed some people might be overjoyed with the newfound freedom he seemed to have been presented with, but Credence just felt lost. 

Somehow, he realized it was Christmas Eve. That must be why the streets were so empty, why the occasional person he saw was dressed in their best, cheerily rushing to be on their way. He wasn’t sure if this thought was comforting or not, as Christmases had never been very pleasant for him or his adoptive siblings. Most years they spent the entire day in church, listening to Mary Lou rant about this or that. This might be his best Christmas yet, he realized with an unusual jolt of self-pity. He was alone, homeless, probably dying...but he still felt like he deserved it. He shouldn’t hope for more or better things, and yet a small part of his brain still did. He fidgeted with the button pressed in his palm. 

He distantly registered a church bell tolling ten times. It was later than he thought. The streets were completely deserted now as he kept walking, turning corners at random and not really observing where he was going. It didn’t matter anymore. 

He became vaguely aware of a figure about three blocks ahead. As Credence neared the block, the man ahead of him put a hand up to his hair, making a soft noise of exasperated confusion. He looked up a little more carefully and was startled to recognize the man from the subway, the nice man who had talked to him and tried to help him. Credence stopped, unsure what to do. He wanted to approach the man, but he was afraid. He took a step backwards into a more shadowy edge of the sidewalk. 

The man stepped directly into the middle of the street, spinning around slowly, and Credence caught the bewildered look on his face before he faced the other way again, fumbling in his jacket pocket. 

“Pickett, I’m sorry, I think everything is closed,” the man said, a soft pleading tone. Credence frowned, it was Christmas Eve, surely the man knew nothing would be open. His gaze scanned the block they were on. Shops. All decorated with their Christmas displays, dark now in the windows. Part of Credence wished he had seen the shops when they were lit up with their decorations. But he didn’t think he deserved to see such beauty. 

“I don’t...I don’t know, Pickett, I’m not sure where to try…” 

The man was speaking softly to something in his hand. Credence frowned a bit more. This was certainly odd. He turned again, as if in the hopes that a shop had suddenly opened in the few seconds he had been facing the other way. He paused, eyes in Credence’s direction. Credence froze, unsure of what to do. He thought the darkness hid him well enough, but he couldn’t be sure. 

“Credence?” the man breathed. 

Credence swallowed, unable to move.

The man took a quick step forward, then seemed to realize himself and took a few more tentative steps forward as if he were approaching something dangerous. Well, Credence supposed, he would have been right. 

“It  _ is  _ you,” the man stared at him in awe and Credence felt his eyes widen in response. “You...you’re  _ alive.”  _

Credence opened his mouth to reply, but didn’t have anything to say so he shut it again, eyes flickering up to the man’s and then back down somewhere towards his shoes. 

He heard a small squeaking coming from the man’s direction and his eyes glanced back up to see a small, strange looking insect of sorts gently cupped in the man’s hand. He wondered if it was something to do with magic. He used to be so afraid of it, so angry, but now he didn’t think he had the strength to resist anymore. Even if it truly were as bad as Mary Lou had said, he must already be condemned so he figured it couldn’t get any worse. 

“Credence,” the man said again, taking the final steps towards him, stopping under the streetlamp that Credence was in the shadow of. For a moment Credence thought that must be what angels looked like, glowing in a soft warm light, a gentle and awestruck smile on his face, he swore he could feel the warmth from it. “I...how?” 

“I d-don’t know,” Credence stuttered out, using his voice for the first time in days. “I don’t know, I’m sorry, I don’t know.” He was starting to panic, he could feel the darkness of the Obscurus flickering at the edges of his vision but that was all it had the strength for anymore. 

“It’s alright, Credence, it’s ok. Um. Do you remember me? I’m Newt Scamander, I was in the subway with you a few weeks ago, I-”

“You tried to help,” Credence whispered. So it had been weeks. Probably longer than he had realized. “Thank you, Mr. Scamander,” he mumbled, one hand fidgeting with the little button in his pocket, letting the cold metal ground him. 

“Newt, please,” Mr. Scamander insisted. “I, um. Credence, this is  _ amazing _ .”

Credence felt himself nod numbly, not feeling in the same way at all. He wondered if it would be ok to run away, he wondered if he should just stay still and frozen forever, he wondered if he could follow this light of a man for the rest of his life. He shivered as the thoughts passed through him. He was dying, he was sure of it. 

The squeaking resumed, taking on an indignant tone. 

“Pickett! Not now, be nice.” Mr. Scamander cupped his hand around the strange looking creature in his hands, looking at Credence sheepishly. “Sorry, Credence, he was...we were looking for a Christmas present.” 

Credence tried to explain that all of the shops were closed on Christmas Eve, and that they likely wouldn’t reopen again until the 26th, but what came out was: “Mr. Scamander, what  _ is _ that?” 

“This? Oh. Um. This is Pickett, he’s a Bowtruckle. A very needy and insistent one at that,” he added with a pointed look at the creature in his hand, who blew a raspberry at him in response. 

Credence realized he was staring, but he couldn’t help it. He had never seen anything like this before. If he was already being rude with his blurting of questions and staring, he figured he might as well continue and then deal with whatever punishment occurred afterwards. 

“Do all...um.  _ People  _ like you have...one of those?” Credence asked, glancing at Mr. Scamander briefly before returning his stare to the Bowtruckle. He wasn’t sure what to call him exactly, ‘witch’ didn’t feel right. He wasn’t sure what did anymore. 

“Wizards? No, um,” Mr. Scamander smiled bashfully, and oh if Credence hadn’t already noticed his warmth he could positively feel it now and he never wanted to feel cold ever again now that he had felt this warmth. “Just me, I suppose. I’m a magizoologist.” 

At Credence’s blank stare he continued: “I study magical creatures. How to...take care of them and understand them and, um, protect them.” Credence noticed that Mr. Scamander didn’t quite make eye contact when he talked either, and that comforted him some. 

Credence stared at the Bowtruckle a little while longer in silence, Pickett squeaking something at him and crawling to the end of Mr. Scamander’s hand to stare back at him. Credence took a half-step back, startled. 

“What, um...what sort of present was he looking for?” Credence whispered, eyes dropping back to the slushy sidewalk. 

“Oh, he wanted something for the Niffler. Just something small and shiny, Nifflers love shiny things more than anything else in this world.”

Credence had no idea what a Niffler was, but after a moment of hesitation he pulled the little button he had found out of his pocket, holding it out nervously towards Pickett. “Is this...is this ok?” It wasn’t much, he knew, just an old button. But it had brought him a brief comfort and it was all he had to offer. Something in him wanted to make the little creature happy, and make Mr. Scamander happy, and it was all he could do. 

“Oh, Credence, that’s perfect, thank you,” Mr. Scamander said gently, and Pickett squeaked happily, reaching out and taking the button out of Credence’s outstretched hand with his little twiggy fingers. Credence watched as he crawled up Mr. Scamander’s blue sleeve onto his shoulder, using his lapel to scurry down back into his pocket. 

Mr. Scamander patted it softly, absentmindedly, as if checking to make sure Pickett was there and safe. There was a part of Credence that longed for something like that. He didn’t feel he deserved anyone to check on him like that, but it would still be nice. 

“Credence, um, I would love to talk to you some more about what happened, but I don’t want to keep you out when it’s so late…” Mr. Scamander said apologetically. Credence’s heart sank, he knew this moment couldn’t last, he’d be back alone and cold, of course Mr. Scamander didn’t want to talk to him, and if Mr. Scamander did ever find him again surely he would be in trouble for the incident in the subway. “Would it be ok to see you again? Where are you staying? I could walk you home maybe?” 

Mr. Scamander seemed so nice and earnest and unlike anything Credence had ever experienced and he hated the way he shrugged in a half-hearted gesture at the street around them to answer his questions. 

“Oh,” Mr. Scamander said, so softly and sadly that it made Credence flinch. The corners of his mouth turned down and Credence never wanted to see that expression on his face ever again, he wanted the smile back, but it was his fault, he had ruined it. “Credence, would you mind terribly if...well, would you like to come with me? I have a spare room you’re more than welcome to, and I was going to make some tea before bed…” 

Credence looked up at that, he couldn’t believe what he was hearing. “With you? To...to your house?” Was that ok? Was he really allowed? Surely he must do something in return, surely he must earn it somehow. 

“Yes, well, a hotel actually, but also my house, I um...I can explain better if I could show you.” At Credence’s conflicted look he continued: “You don’t have to, of course, but I...I would really like to help you, Credence.” 

And somehow Credence was nodding, and somehow he was following Mr. Scamander through the dark slushy streets of New York, no longer feeling quite as lost or cold as he had been. He wasn’t sure what he had done to deserve such kindness. 

___

Mr. Scamander’s hotel room was tiny and sparse, a small untouched looking bed alongside one wall and a hard looking chair in the opposite corner. It still was one of the nicest places Credence had been allowed in. 

“You can have this room if you want,” Mr. Scamander said, laying his suitcase on the ground. “Or there’s plenty of room in here as well.”

“What?” Credence asked flatly, surely he didn’t mean the case? 

Mr. Scamander smiled at him, a mischievous sort of thing that made Credence’s heart flutter in a strange way. And  _ surely  _ that feeling was wrong, but he found he sort of didn’t care all that much anymore. 

Especially when he saw Mr. Scamander open the case. A soft sort of warm glow was emanating from the inside of it, looking inviting and much larger somehow as Credence leaned toward it, trying to see the bottom of the case. 

Mr. Scamander smiled at him again, and stepped into the case. 

Credence gaped at him as it looked as if he were descending a staircase, getting lower and lower until only the top of his fluffy hair was showing over the edge of the case. 

“Coming, Credence?”

He scrambled to follow the voice. He didn’t know what he was doing anymore, none of this seemed real, but he didn’t care. He would follow that warmth as long as he was allowed. 

At the bottom of the stairs (impossible) was a cabin of sorts ( _ impossible _ ) and Credence whirled around, looking around the room for some sort of explanation or reasoning, only to catch Mr. Scamander’s soft happy gaze. “Welcome to my home.”

He knew he was still gaping, but he couldn’t help it. This was the most wonderful, most impossible thing he had ever seen. Surely magic couldn’t all be wicked and bad if it belonged to people like Mr. Scamander and it made places like this. Places that were cozy and warm and filled with all sorts of things Credence had never seen before. 

“You’re welcome to stay as long as you’d like,” Mr. Scamander said softly, looking somewhere over Credence’s shoulder, sounding almost as nervous as Credence felt. “I can show you the rest of everything and everyone tomorrow, if you’d like, but I don’t want to overwhelm you with it all at once.” 

“There’s more?” Credence blurted, because how could there possibly be more? How could it get any better than this? 

Mr. Scamander breathed a small huff of a laugh. “Yes, this is where I keep my creatures. I have space for everyone.” 

The way he said that made Credence wonder, almost, if there could possibly be room for him as well. At least for a while. Until he had somewhere else to go. But that thought just distressed him, because he  _ didn’t  _ have anywhere else to go and he didn’t want to impose on Mr. Scamander for too long, but he was so inviting and warm and his case was so inviting and warm, and Credence had never felt such things before, and it was all too much, much more than he deserved or could comprehend, and so he managed to twitch a smile back at him and sunk into one of the chairs by the fireplace (of  _ course  _ there was a fireplace in this impossible space). He hoped that was ok. 

Mr. Scamander was right, he should wait until tomorrow to not be overwhelmed. Although he was pretty sure he was already overwhelmed. 

“Mr. Scamander…” he began, not at all sure what to say.

“Newt, please,” he insisted again.

“N-Newt,” he tried. It felt nice to say, but also like he wasn’t allowed. 

“What kind of tea do you like, Credence?”

Credence felt his face heat up. He’d never really had tea before. He didn’t want to admit that, it felt wrong, embarrassing. “I don’t...I don’t know,” he mumbled back, picking at one of his sleeves.

Newt hummed lightly in response. “I think it might be a chamomile sort of night, but if you don’t like it I can always make you something else.”

Credence nodded as if he knew what Newt was talking about, and even if he hated it he knew he could never ask him to change it or go out of his way to make something new for him. 

He watched as Mr. Scamander moved around the little kitchen, mesmerized by the way he seemed to use his wand about half the time, doing all sorts of small but wonderful things with it. He floated two mugs down to the countertop, he lit a fire on the stove, he sent a little cup of sugar over to the table. It all seemed so second-nature and so simple, nothing like the evils Mary Lou had put into his head. As he thought before, magic really couldn’t be all that bad. Newt’s wand was just a tool, like an extension of himself, assisting him to make the tea as if it was the most natural thing in the world. Credence loved it. He probably shouldn’t, but he did. 

Newt handed him the tea with another smile that made something inside of Credence flutter in ways he had never felt before. 

“Be careful, it’s still hot,” Mr. Scamander said softly and Credence felt himself flush. Again.

“Thank you,” he whispered and held the mug carefully with both hands. It felt so nice to hold something so warm. Credence would be content to just be allowed to hold the tea and not even taste it.  

Everything with Newt was so warm: his smiles, his voice, his cabin in his case, his tea...Credence longed for something so wonderful. He prayed he could have this for longer, forever even, but what would prayers do for him now? Surely this had to be heaven, somehow, because hell could never be so gentle and soft and perfect. Surely, someone had made a mistake somewhere along the way letting him in, but he would take what little amount of time he could get, just a taste of this perfection, before getting sent back where he belonged. 

“Credence, I…” Mr. Scamander sort of reached out towards him, hesitated, and dropped his hand back into his lap. Credence tried not to flinch. Of  _ course  _ he wouldn’t want to touch him. Credence wouldn’t even want to touch himself. But a part of him longed for it, and that part made him nervous. He didn’t really know what a gentle touch would feel like, and Newt’s touch would be gentle, wouldn’t it? It would be too much, too good. Even if he had been mistakenly allowed into heaven somehow he never could deserve something so nice. 

He felt himself sinking. And even that made him feel bad; Mr. Scamander had done nothing but be nice to him, and he didn’t want to seem ungrateful at all. He didn’t know what to say, didn’t know what to do, so he held the mug up to his lips with trembling hands and took a very small sip of the tea. 

It was nice. Of course it was nice. Everything here was nice and he couldn’t comprehend how there could be so much nice. It  _ had  _ to be heaven. 

“Do you like it?” Newt asked him so earnestly, so hopefully, that Credence nodded quickly in return, hastily taking another sip as if to prove his honesty. 

Newt smiled at him again, a new smile again, and it was everything. Credence looked back down at his mug to try to hide his face. 

Thankfully, Pickett interrupted the silence by climbing out of Mr. Scamander’s pocket and squeaking at him.

“Oh! Oh it’s getting quite late, I do apologize. We could...we could talk more in the morning?”

Credence nodded mutely, still trying to grasp that he was allowed to stay the night in this perfect, amazing, warm place. He stood, following Newt as he put his mug in the sink and headed towards the wall with a few doors on it. 

“Would you prefer to stay here, or in the hotel room?” Newt asked, looking a little nervous. 

Credence realized he had to make the decision and choose for himself. If he had made it this far, he might as well choose what he actually wanted. “H-here, please?”

“Alright,” Newt said, smiling, and apparently that had been the right answer and it made Credence’s heart flutter again. 

“You could have this room, if you’d like,” he said, opening one of the doors. “For as long as you’d like. I know it’s not much, but I could change it later if you want anything different? Um. Is it ok?”

It was too much. Too Much. Too Nice. He couldn’t accept this, even if he wanted to. Credence didn’t know what to do. It was all so overwhelming. He felt himself start to shake, felt tears come to his eyes, and immediately flinched in fear of the Obscurus coming out. It couldn’t come out, not here, not now, not when everything was so good and perfect and nice and still Too Much but everything that Credence could have ever wanted and more, and he knew it couldn’t have lasted, knew he would ruin it somehow, just like he always did, and -

He shook as the darkness flickered in his vision, hands trembling as he clenched them, trying to regain some sort of control over himself. 

“Credence?” Newt asked softly, looking as if he had done something wrong, and how could Credence explain that he had only done everything exactly right, it was  _ him  _ who was wrong, and - 

“I- I can’t-” Credence gasped, looking around frantically for a way out of the case before he accidentally destroyed everything. He was dizzy, and everything was spinning, and he couldn’t, he  _ couldn’t -  _

The last thing his mind registered was a pair of strong arms catching him before he toppled over. And a tiny part of his brain was still coherent enough to scream at him that that was wrong. And another, slightly larger part, that thought that, well, if he was dying, at least he got to feel this. 

And then everything went dark. 


	2. Christmas Day

The first thing Credence’s mind registered as he woke up was warmth. Soft, gentle, safe warmth. He snuggled closer to it, dimly aware of plush fabric beneath his fingers, softer than anything he’d felt before. He thought he was dreaming. He must be, surely. Credence never woke up feeling soft or safe or warm. 

He slowly opened his eyes and immediately jumped back at the tiny green creature staring into his face. 

Pickett squeaked in response, scrambling back away from him onto the bedpost. 

In his haste, Credence had almost fallen off the bed, gripping the blankets tightly in his scarred hands. But now that his heart rate was calming down, he was able to look around. It was the room Mr. Scamander has shown him last night. Somehow he hadn’t destroyed it. Somehow he hadn’t been kicked out and left outside. Somehow all of this had been  _ real. _ The thoughts made him wonder. 

Everything was still overwhelming, but seeing that he hadn’t damaged anything gave him some hope. Even Pickett seemed not to hate him, as the little creature crawled back towards him, albeit carefully, as if he wanted to study Credence. 

Credence sat very still as Pickett approached him, climbing up the blankets in his lap and grabbing onto his shirt to work his way up to Credence’s shoulder. He didn’t dare breathe and disturb the Bowtruckle. His heart sped up as he felt Pickett’s little feet steady themselves on his shoulder, his tiny fingers reaching up to poke at his ear. It tickled and he tried not to flinch. 

Pickett didn’t seem afraid of him. He didn’t seem to want to avoid him or not want to touch him or anything Credence had feared. If anything, it was Credence who was afraid. Afraid that he would hurt Pickett or scare him or do something to upset him. But so far it was going better than he could have hoped. If Pickett could like him, could approve of him, then maybe, perhaps, someday, could someone else? Credence stopped that train of thought, it was selfish and he didn’t want to get his hopes up. 

Pickett made a few soft little sounds at him; Credence thought he might be trying to comfort him. He flushed at the thought that things seemed to care for him here in the magical case. He felt a bit of tugging at his hair and huffed out a small laugh as the Bowtruckle climbed into his hair. Everything was so unusual, but it all seemed so good. 

He wondered where Mr. Scamander went, and if it was ok to leave the room. He figured, if the door was locked, then he was being reasonably punished and would just have to wait it out. And if it was unlocked, well… Credence would deal with that when it came down to it. That was an almost scarier possibility, because what he had experienced last night had been too good to be true and he had probably destroyed it all. 

Slowly, he shuffled up to the door, laying one hand on the knob and taking a breath before pushing it easily open. 

Newt wasn’t in the kitchen, which was somehow miraculously completely intact as if nothing had happened at all. There were some oddly shaped pots bubbling on the stove and a dish was cleaning itself in the sink. Credence couldn’t help but stare and watch as the clean dish shook itself off like a dog and stacked itself back onto the shelf. Everything was still so impossible. And yet...and yet somehow it still was happening. 

Pickett tugged on his hair and he turned to look in that direction, seeing a small window along the wall. It was daytime outside; Credence must have slept through the night. He approached the window carefully, nervously, because  _ how  _ could this all still be happening and-

There were plants outside. Lush, green plants like he had never seen before, growing thick around the window and along what looked like a path leading from the door he stood next to.  _ Impossible _ . 

Credence knew things were strange here, he had climbed into a suitcase that turned into an entire cabin after all, but this? This was entirely different. It was winter where he had come from, cold and harsh and bitter. He knew the case was special, so warm and soft and unlike anything he’d known, but to even be able to change seasons? To have land outside? (Inside?) Credence didn’t know what to think or what to call this situation. It was overwhelming. Just like Newt had said. It was good he had wanted to wait to show him. 

As if his thoughts could summon things, Mr. Scamander himself rounded the corner on the path towards the little cabin. Credence was staring, again, he knew, but when Newt looked up and meet his gaze and his eyes lit up a little bit as a soft smile started to form on his face, then, well, Credence couldn’t help but not care that he was staring. After all, if he hadn’t been looking, he wouldn’t have seen the soft expression that he dared to hope might be for him. 

“Hello, Credence,” Newt said gently as he entered the cabin, soft smile still on his face. 

Credence felt his face going pink,  _ again _ , of course, and managed a quietly muttered ‘hello’ of his own in return. 

“Did you sleep alright? Are you hungry?”

Newt seemed so genuine, so concerned for him, that it made Credence want to cry. “I thought...I thought I ruined everything…” he mumbled. 

“Ruined…?” Newt looked confused for a moment before the realization dawned on him. “Oh. Oh, Credence, no, no of course not! Nothing happened, you just fainted. I must have overwhelmed you, and I’m sorry about that. I tend to come on a little strong, I know. Um. But please don’t worry, everything is fine, as long as you are fine. You are ok, right? Just...please eat something maybe?” Newt spoke very quickly, as if he couldn’t stop the train of thought from pushing forward. “S-so I don’t worry…” he added quietly. And Credence felt his heart flutter at the fact that someone was worried about him. 

Credence made himself take a funny looking pastry from the plate Mr. Scamander held out to him. He had never had a pastry before. It was somehow crisp and soft all at once, tasted amazing (because of course it did) and Credence couldn’t believe that he was allowed to eat such a wonderful thing, or that anyone would be, really. But Newt had a whole plate of them somehow. Credence knew that temptation was bad, but he still took a second one when Newt insisted. 

“It seems as if Pickett has chosen a second tree.”

“What?” Credence asked, confused, as he made sure there were no lingering bits of pastry on his fingers. He hoped he’d maybe be allowed to have another one tomorrow, assuming he was allowed to stay (and wasn’t that a wonderful possibility?).

“Bowtruckles. They live in trees, only the best kinds of trees, ones for making wands. Pickett doesn’t always get along with the others, and he chose me as his tree. But he seems to have taken quite a liking to you,” Newt said fondly. Pickett squeaked back and it sounded like he agreed. 

“Is...is that ok?” Credence said nervously, he didn’t want to take Pickett away or make Newt upset, and he still wasn’t completely sure what all of it meant either. 

“Oh yes, it’s very wonderful actually. I knew he would like you. It means you are very good and worthy, to be chosen by a Bowtruckle.” 

Credence didn’t know what to say. Good.  _ Worthy.  _ He’d never had those words applied to him before. He’d never had anything take such a pure liking to him before such as Pickett. He’d never had someone look at him the way Newt was looking at him now. His heart was surely going to beat out of his chest at this rate. But he’d die happy.

“Would you like to see the rest of the case?” Newt asked, and it was as if he was buzzing with a nervous, excited energy. 

“Yes, please.”

“I’ll try to keep it brief...sometimes I tend to, um, ramble when it comes to my creatures,” Newt said bashfully as he opened the door and motioned for Credence to exit first. “I’ve already fed them today, so you can just meet them for now. Let me know if it’s too much, alright? It can be a lot to process...Jacob took it quite well, but not everyone does.”

Credence only nodded, still feeling as if it were all a dream, as if he were in heaven, because so many wonderful and extraordinary things surely couldn’t exist on earth. Newt was positively glowing with his warmth and enthusiasm in the soft impossible light filtering through the leaves and branches in his case, and Credence knew that he would follow him anywhere if he could. 

He didn’t feel worthy of this, of Newt or his case or his creatures or any of these wonderful things he was experiencing in so fast of a time, but he  _ wanted  _ it. And Pickett had liked him, had chosen him, so surely that must mean something? Newt could have just been saying something nice, but somehow Credence felt like Mr. Scamander wouldn’t say false things to people. And that thought comforted him. 

Newt’s tour of the case was entirely overwhelming, but Credence found that he didn’t mind as it was a more of an awestruck-overwhelming than anything else. He had never seen so many strange and wonderful things before. He tried to absorb all of Newt’s excitedly-given information and the names of all the creatures, but he knew he’d have to learn most of them again. If he was actually allowed to stay. 

He showed Credence the rest of Pickett’s family; they were all so different and yet still distinctly Bowtruckles. Pickett mostly hid in his hair during the encounter, and Credence was happy that Pickett felt safe with him. 

He walked Credence more quickly past some larger enclosures, pointing out some massive creatures in the distance and saying he’d save them for later. The more Credence saw, the more impossible everything seemed and yet the more real everything felt. He saw strange looking winged-snakes with silver eggs, giant beetles, funny little flying creatures. He met a mysterious silvery creature with an uncanny stare that made Credence feel like it could see right into his soul. He met something odd called a mooncalf and their food could  _ fly.  _ They seemed to like him too, happily bouncing against him and making sounds that made him smile. 

He could feel Newt’s gaze on him at times and tried not to let himself blush. He knew he was doing more than his fair share of staring in return, both at Newt and all the wondrous things he was showing Credence. 

Newt said they had only made it through about half of his creatures (which seemed impossible in and of itself because Credence felt like he had seen so much already, how could there possibly be more?) but Pickett was starting to get impatient from his perch back on Newt’s shoulder, wanting to visit the Niffler to deliver his Christmas gift. 

They stopped outside the small enclosure, filled with the most glittery things Credence had ever seen. Now he understood why it didn’t matter so much what the gift was, only that it was shiny. He hoped his button would be enough. 

Credence watched as Pickett climbed down Newt’s arm towards the Niffler, squeaking as the little animal sniffed at his leaves. Pickett held out the button, and Credence held his breath nervously. The Niffler somehow looked absolutely  _ delighted _ , grabbed the button out of Pickett’s outstretched arms, and stuffed it into a pouch in the folds of his fur before scurrying away back into his enclosure full of shine and sparkles. 

Newt laughed, and  _ oh  _ that was a sound that Credence hoped to hear again. He stared up at Newt with wide eyes, hoping that he would, hoping that this could last, hoping that the gift was ok,  _ hoping.  _ He’d never had so much hope in his life. 

“Did...did he like it?” 

“He loved it! Thank you, Credence,” Newt beamed at him. 

Pickett reached out towards Credence, squeaking his thanks, and Newt lifted his hand to Credence’s shoulder so Pickett could climb across. Newt’s hand brushed his shoulder ever so lightly, just barely settling his smallest two fingers on the edge of Credence’s shoulder, but Credence could swear he felt the warmth of Newt’s hand from that simple gesture. 

Newt chuckled softly as Pickett took his place on Credence’s shoulder, one little twiggy hand winding into his hair. Credence found that liked that laugh too. Quite a bit. It was so gentle, so fond, and as he looked up at Newt he saw that Newt was already looking at him. They both looked away quickly and Credence knew that he was blushing again. He knew he shouldn’t, knew he couldn’t, but still...there was a part of him that wanted, a part of him that wished and hoped and dared to dream. And maybe, just maybe, Newt was in some sort of agreement because his hand still lingered on Credence’s shoulder. ( _ Impossible _ .)

“Happy Christmas, Credence,” Newt murmured, his two fingers giving the tiniest of squeezes before slowly dropping back down to his side. Newt’s gaze kept flickering back to him and Credence thought he could see shy nervousness in his expression. Newt’s cheeks were tinged a little pink. (Impossible.  _ Impossible _ .) (... _ and yet _ …)


	3. New Year's Eve

The next few days spent in the wondrous impossible of Newt Scamander’s magical,  _ fantastic  _ case went by in an awestruck blur for Credence, yet he knew he would remember every single perfect moment for all eternity. He still couldn’t believe that he had been allowed to stay, that Mr. Scamander not only seemed to care for him but seemed to actually want him around. No one had made Credence feel that way before. 

And if Newt caused other new thoughts to appear in Credence’s mind, he’d cherish them in secret because surely these thoughts weren’t allowed, surely they could never be reciprocated, and though he hadn’t been punished for them yet Credence still was wary. But he’d keep them while he could. And every day that went by, he felt less and less terrified and anxious about those sorts of things, or about anything at all. Hours would go by without a single thought of his Obscurus or the damage he had caused. There was just so much  _ good  _ here. He hated that he could have ever thought anything differently about magic.

He was learning so much every day, so much about Newt’s creatures and magic and the world that Newt belonged to. The world he wished he could live in forever. The world that Newt was convinced Credence belonged in too. He could still hardly believe it, but he knew he would trust Newt and anything he said, even if it was hard for him still. 

He learned the types of all the creatures Newt showed him, all of their names and nicknames. He learned the schedules and feeding and habits, the things they liked and disliked. He learned which creatures seemed to take to him almost immediately, and which needed some more time to warm up to him. Somehow, it wasn’t discouraging to him at all. Newt’s pure enthusiasm made sure of that.

He learned that the creatures accepted him for who he was, just Credence, not judging his past actions or his dark emotions. When he was kind to them, they were kind in return. And Credence would rather die than hurt any of them. Without the constant threat of the Obscurus lingering under his skin and trying to break out, he was finally starting to believe that maybe he would be able to control it and be able to stay without ruining everything.

He learned that maybe he really did have a way with magical creatures, or at least that was what Mr. Scamander kept reassuring him. He told Credence that the creatures liked him faster than they had anyone else, and that thought made Credence smile. It was still a rare thing for him to smile, but he felt it creeping up on his face more often than not these days. 

He learned that things can be overwhelming but in a good way. A glorious, warm, perfect way. 

He learned that Newt lights up when he talks. Newt  _ had  _ to be an angel; he radiated sincerity and warmth and purity and joy. He was so vibrant that Credence could feel it, he was drawn to him, like a moth to a lamp. He glowed in the summer lights in the suitcase, his smiles lit up the night sky underneath thousands of sparkling stars like Credence had never seen, his soft laughter was the most beautiful music Credence had ever heard. Every moment was bliss and every second spent in this heaven Credence felt more and more at home and at peace and he never wanted to leave this place. 

“Oh, sorry. I’m rambling at you...again…” Newt looked down bashfully from a long story about a strange looking creature he called a Fwooper. Credence was a little upset to realize he had only halfway been paying attention to Mr. Scamander’s actual words, the rest of his mind just on Newt himself. He had been absorbing every word spoken in Newt’s gently excited voice, coming from his soft looking lips, but he felt his heart speed up as he knew that was exactly the reason he got distracted. Newt was beautiful all the time, but there was something special under the starry skies of the case. Part of him still felt like it was wrong, that it could never be allowed, but more parts of him hoped and prayed and wished that maybe it could be. Even if he couldn’t have what he wanted, Credence knew he would be content just to be able to stay in the case with Mr. Scamander and work side by side with him until Newt sent him away. 

The way Newt talked...Credence had never seen anything like it, not truly. He had seen plenty of people be passionate about things, always in intense and frightening ways. But Newt’s passion...well, it was beautiful. Such love in his voice, such devotion and care and oh what Credence would give for just a second of that attention to be put on him. 

“I like it,” he heard himself say before he could stop himself. It was his turn to blush as he met Newt’s eyes briefly before returning his gaze to the Fwooper. “When you talk, I mean…” he added, so quietly he wasn’t sure if it would be heard. But Newt was smiling, a new smile, a small and cautiously happily unguarded sort of thing with his cheeks going pink enough to hide some of his freckles. Credence wanted to see that smile forever. And the fact that he had brought it out, that he had caused it...well, that was overwhelming in a good way too. 

Pickett made a happy sound from atop Newt’s shoulder. The Bowtruckle had taken to spending about half his time on Newt and half his time on Credence, a constant source of amusement for Newt. Pickett would squeak and reach towards his other ‘tree’, and Newt or Credence would reach out to allow him to scurry across onto the other. Credence treasured those small moments where his hand touched Newt’s. It always sent sparks up his arm into his heart. 

Pickett reached out towards Credence, perching himself on the end of Newt’s fingers. Mr. Scamander held him out, but instead of crawling onto Credence’s hand, he simply grasped one of his fingers, the rest of Credence’s hand brushing against Newt’s. 

“Pickett,” Newt coaxed with a bemused smile. “Go ahead.”

The Bowtruckle squeaked at him, and Credence thought he could hear exasperation in the little noise. He tugged at Credence’s finger, pulling his hand a little closer to Newt’s. Their fingers were almost entwined. 

The tiny creature pulled again, sighed, and blew a raspberry at Newt before walking with a definite pout onto Credence’s hand. He made his way up to Credence’s shoulder, staring at him with a knowing look, before finishing his climb and settling in his hair. 

Credence could feel Pickett gesturing wildly from atop his head, squeaking rapidly at Newt. There was something in his tone that Credence just knew was frustration.

“ _ Pickett,”  _ Newt said, almost scandalized, blushing heavily. 

“What did he say?” 

“Oh, um. It’s...On New Years Eve, at midnight, it’s...well it’s a tradition to kiss. For good luck in the coming year. Um.” Newt was looking everywhere but at Credence. He seemed just as nervous as Credence felt. ( _Impossible_ ) There was a new sort of energy around them, and if Credence hadn’t had the best week of his entire life he’d be worried that the Obscurus was coming out. It amazed him how little he’d worried about things like that recently. “Pickett thought...well…” 

Credence couldn’t breathe. Could it be? (Impossible). Could Newt know, and actually return his feelings? (It had to be impossible, didn’t it?)

Pickett tugged Credence’s hair with a grumpy squeak. The little clock Newt had charmed to hang outside his cabin in the case began to chime. 

“It’s...it’s midnight now,” Credence mumbled. 

“Ah, so it is.” 

He didn’t think he’d ever seen Mr. Scamander so nervous before. Credence took a step towards him so that they were almost touching. He had been close to Newt many times in the past week, but not quite this close, not with this much purpose. Newt’s gaze kept flickering back and forth from his face, looking like he wanted to say something but that he was too anxious. Credence could see his hands twitching out of the corner of his eye. Pickett tugged on a piece of his hair again from his perch on top of Credence’s head, a warning or perhaps an urging. Permission. 

And he realized he’d have to be the brave one. To try this and risk it all and maybe, just maybe, somehow have everything he didn’t even know he ever wanted. One moment was all it would take to gain that. Or to ruin everything. He couldn’t let it pass, couldn’t wait any longer. It had to be now, and as much as it terrified him he also felt a strange sort of courage well up from inside him, just enough to lean those last few inches towards Newt as his clock finished chiming midnight. 

Credence took a small hesitant breath and tilted his head up, chapped lips meeting Newt’s own. It was the briefest of things, small and nervous and hesitant, and Credence didn’t know what he was doing, but in that tiny breathless moment he felt his heart stop. 

Newt’s lips were warm, and Credence didn’t think he’d ever feel cold ever again. He’d remember this warmth forever. 

“ _ Credence _ ,” Newt whispered against him, and he felt Newt’s hands come up to cup the sides of his face in the gentlest touch Credence had ever felt, so softly keeping him from moving away. Newt’s lips pressed against his again, warm and perfect. Credence had never felt such hope, such love, in his entire life. Pickett patted his head gently in reassurance. 

He felt like he was in heaven. Like he was home. Like this was where he belonged. Here, with Newt, in this magical suitcase filled with fantastic creatures and wonderful magic. 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading!  
> I'm katherine1753 on tumblr :)

**Author's Note:**

> Chapter 2 posted by Christmas, Chapter 3 by New Years :)  
> I'm katherine1753 on tumblr


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